Luscious. It is diving, sweeping, dipping. Not beautiful, never beautiful. The metal melody swirling within her. Electric. She is entranced, a slave to the music. How it encompasses every part of her. The lambent classics. The soulful blues. The raw rock.
Her body, sheathed in leather and jean, twists and turns. As she dances, with the beat as her partner, he lovingly pulls her, flips her and kills her. Every jam is a blow and every strum a caress. The night batters and breaks her. War rages within her and is doused by love. Passion and sex are replaced by ice and solidarity. She writhes and screams, natural prey to the demon that is someone else’s heart. As the poets words flow over her, slowly tightening their grip she fails to defend herself with reason and knowledge. The words, once so gentle and melodious, have turned to tears of hate, drowning her. She disappears beneath the surface begging for one last refrain.